


In which Dirk is a porn star and Jake is a broke college kid who needs the $$$

by Mortior



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Bondage, Exhibitionism, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn Video, Reluctant Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-17 01:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13066290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mortior/pseuds/Mortior
Summary: Gift-fic for tumblr user Jaboody's birthday, and exactly what the title says it is. (Might get an actual title someday). Alternatively: Jake is as straight as uncooked spaghetti, and Dirk tries to do the right thing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can also be found [here](http://mortior.tumblr.com/post/168677435066/in-which-dirk-is-a-porn-star-and-jake-is-a-broke) on Tumblr.

It’s the third week of summer break, and you’re clutching a dirty flyer in your hand and staring up at the unmarked brick building in front of you. The paint on the door is peeling, and the windows are blocked with what might be heavy curtains, but there’s a row of expensive-looking cars lining the sidewalk where you’re standing, so it’s probably the right place.

The flyer in your hand is only dirty in the figurative sense, with pictures that probably would’ve made your elderly grandmother blush.

You almost turn around and take the long walk back to the dormitory, where it’s uncommonly quiet and you’re the one student on the entire floor who isn’t home visiting family. Maybe you’ll try this again later, because your next tuition payment isn’t due until the end of the month, and something else will surely pop up between then and now…

But the thought of buying your meager groceries from the dollar store again leaves a bitter feeling in your chest, and really, all you need is this one gig - less than an hour of footage, the abrasive man on the phone had promised, and you’ll have enough to last the entire summer. The only other place that called you back was a restaurant over an hour’s walk away. The buses in this college town don’t run when regular classes aren’t in session, because apparently your online summer classes don’t count, and it seems like every student-worthy job was snatched up before you even started looking.

Even this sketchy place wasn’t going to pay you more than pocket change, until you sent them your picture and answered a few more questions about yourself, and suddenly their offer rose into three digits. You couldn’t really say no after that…no matter how much the explanation of the job’s…duties…made your skin crawl and your stomach twist into knots.

But you’re already here, with only a few minutes to spare before you’re late for the agreed-upon time.

Swallowing your nerves, you reach out and test the door, expecting to find it locked. The knob turns easily, and the smell of cigarette smoke and something almost pleasantly floral hits your nose, and before you can get a good look at the surprisingly well-lit room, there’s a huge figure blocking your view.

“Fuckin’ finally, you the kid who called earlier? Jack, or whatever?”

You stutter an affirmative reply (and a meek correction of your name), but he’s already leading you past the front door and into the room proper, which reminds you of the photography classrooms on campus. You don’t quite know what the equipment does, but there’s plenty of it scattered around, pointed at various chairs and makeshift platforms and…mattresses on the floor. There are a few people idling about, some of them wearing little more than bathrobes or less, and you decide to keep your eyes on your feet while the man shouts like you’re not directly behind him.

“I’ve got a good fuckin’ scene all ready to go, real top notch, gonna rake in all kinds of hits, and you’re gonna walk outta here with your cut before the sun goes down. Return offer’s gonna be a fraction of what we’re payin’ today unless you top the video chart, then we’ll do a competitive percentage or some shit, I don’t figure the numbers, that’s bitch work.”

You blink at the words, but keep your mouth closed. This fellow probably wouldn’t take kindly to dissent, and he seems like the type to withhold payment out of spite. He leads you past half a dozen makeshift sets, before you come to a small room with a large glass window on one side that faces the main area. Inside is a bed that looks almost too big and fancy for sleeping. The sheets are shiny and smooth to the touch, and you’re not sure the pillows have ever been used for their intended purpose. There’s a long shelf on one side with an arrangement of obscene objects and what appear to be harnesses and gags and all manner of things you can’t identify, except that they’re made of leather and metal. You feel lightheaded at the sight, but the man is still ranting loudly.

“-got my best star for this, you lucky punk, he’ll take real good fuckin’ care of you. Does his shit by the book and then some, but I got real fuckin’ creative with this one, and no, don’t ask me shit, because the surprise is part of the gig, so shut up and sit down. And take your fuckin’ shoes off!”

You obey, too out of your element to even consider otherwise. It’s never too late to back out, but you’ve already come this far, and it’s been a nerve-wracking experience. Putting it all to waste would be a shame…right? You can’t even convince yourself of that, before the man is leaving the room and shouting directions at various people, who look bored in contrast with the depraved environment they work in. Various cameras are set up, and your hands won’t stop shaking, so you clasp them between your legs and stare down at your own socks, trying to think about your situation as little as possible.

A few more people enter the room to set the scene up - rearranging the pillows, removing some of the obscene props, and adding a few standing lights and cameras next to the bed. One of them stops in front of you, and all you see at first is their dark gray jeans, before looking up to find that this fellow isn’t wearing a shirt.

“Are you Jack?” His voice is deep and soft, and it sends a weird tingle along your skin, like someone is trailing a finger down the back of your neck.

“W-well yes, actually, my name is Jake.”

He lifts an eyebrow, platinum blond like his hair, which has been very intentionally styled to look feathered and messy. He’s pale, but dusted with freckles over his nose and shoulders, and he’s suspiciously fit for someone working lights and cameras, and then you realize what an idiot you’ve been, and your face immediately heats. Before you can say anything (a greeting, an apology, you’re not sure), he speaks again.

“I’m Dirk. Don’t lose the glasses yet. Are you wearing anything else under all that?”

“Uhh…just my boxers.”

“Cool. I’ve got the directions, so just follow my lead when I move you around, and try to stay in position. Cal doesn’t like reshoots, so it’ll be a pain in the ass if he starts yelling, but I’ll deal with him. We’re not expecting you to know the routine or anything.”

“Okay,” is all you can manage, feeling a bit like you’re pinned under glass, as everyone else leaves the room or moves behind the cameras, all of them pointed directly at you and at various spots on the oversized bed. The loud man from before (Cal?) stands behind the window and crosses his arms, grinning unpleasantly and showing off a tacky gold tooth.

Dirk nods slightly at him, having been privy to some unobvious signal. The lens of every camera follows your movements as Dirk silently motions for you to move backwards on the bed, until you’re situated on your back with your head on the pillows, staring up at Dirk apprehensively as he kneels over you, his eyes an uncommon shade of brown, almost like sunlight through a beer bottle. You hadn’t been close enough to notice before, but now you’re only a few inches away, as he leans down and…

The first soft touch on the side of your neck (Dirk’s nose?) elicits an embarrassing squeak when you realize it’s actually his mouth, warm and slightly wet, as his lips part and something even warmer and wetter presses against your skin. You flinch involuntarily when his hand slips under your shirt, and he pulls back to look at you, lifting the same eyebrow as before.

“First time doing this?” he mumbles quietly, trying not to move his mouth. You nod, hoping he doesn’t notice how bad you’re shaking. He hums sympathetically. “No worries. Took me a while to get used to the cameras too.”

Distantly, you hear someone yell “less talking, more fucking!”

Dirk rolls his eyes and leans down again, whispering under your ear before he gently scrapes his teeth against it. “Ignore them. Just focus on me, or close your eyes.”

You do as he says, squeezing your eyes shut as he pushes your shirt up and slides the smooth palm of his hand over your skin. You try not to curl in on yourself, which would be difficult with him on top of you, but the reflexive urge is there, and your stomach twitches at his touch. He hesitates for a moment, and you hope you’re not royally screwing this up like you know you are.

“Relax,” he breathes into your ear. You knit your brow together and do your best, but when his mouth travels to one of your exposed nipples, his hand also wanders south to unzip your pants, then slides between your legs and over your boxers and against your painfully obvious unerect dick, and you practically jerk beneath him with a miserable sound that has him pulling completely away and sitting back on his heels to stare down at you. Your face is red with shame.

The man who is presumably Cal bangs his fist on the glass, while Dirk frowns and pins you with a strange expression, his tone flat.

“Have you never done this before?”

You nod, but his expression doesn’t change.

“I meant sex in general.”

You hesitate, but nod again, more slowly this time. Dirk’s frown deepens, and you’re probably saying goodbye to that paycheck. It was too good to be true, apparently. You should’ve taken the job offer at the restaurant. The hours were abysmal and the pay was depressing, but maybe they’ll take pity and reconsider, even though you already turned them down. You’re already resigned to calling this whole thing a bust, but it seems Dirk isn’t finished interrogating you.

“Have you ever kissed anyone? Gotten to second base? A blowjob? Anything?” You shake your head. Dirk sounds incredulous, but you’re not sure why. You already answered most of these questions on the phone, after all. Then his expression darkens.

“…are you straight?”

He sounds pissed, to the point where you’re almost afraid to answer the question, but after a long pause you nod again, and he lets out a harsh, angry sound before storming out of the room, leaving you sitting on the bed with your pants still unzipped and your shirt pushed halfway up your chest. The several people at the cameras start to mill about, looking exasperated more than anything else, as you hear a shouting match start up in the other room.

Cal isn’t at the window anymore, and the other voice must be Dirk’s. You only catch snippets here and there, as Dirk repeatedly objects to going through with the scene, and Cal tries to argue with him, but it sounds like Dirk is shutting him down at every turn. Concluding the worst, you pull your shirt back down and zip your pants up, just in time for Dirk to walk back in. His expression is sour, but he makes a commendable effort to bring his voice back down to a reasonable level.

“Our female star is working next weekend. You can come back then and do the scene with her. Cal won’t cut your pay, and Aranea is good with beginners.”

Dirk must notice your sudden disappointment at the thought of scraping by until then, because he pauses, concerned at your silence on what is truly a generous offer. As uncomfortable as this entire experience has been, it took a lot of effort to get here, and to quit now would be such a sorry waste. Not to mention you’re all out of money, and it’s only Tuesday, so next weekend is almost two weeks away.

“Maybe, uh…” you clear your throat, feeling your face burning up. “I’d rather just…get this over with? If that’s okay…with you, I mean…”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“No I…I’m fine. Can we just…”

You resist the urge to hug your knees to your chest, as Dirk continues to stare. Cal is back at the window, looking sour and resentful, while the people at the cameras linger nearby, waiting for the verdict.

“If it’s about the money, we can pay you some of it now if you sign an agreement to come back next weekend,” Dirk says softly, and you almost curse his intuition, but the idea is actually quite reasonable. You consider it carefully, weighing the obvious pros and few cons, only to find that you’re…surprisingly averse to the proposition. You shouldn’t be, by any means at all, but the truth is…Dirk has been very considerate, more so than even some of your friends on campus whom you’ve known for months, and you haven’t even met this “Aranea” person, and you really don’t want to do this all over again in two weeks.

“I’m sure,” you assert, although it comes out weaker than you’d intended. Dirk practically stares you down, but you force yourself to meet his eyes, because you mean it. He looks unconvinced at first, but after a long, awkward pause, he finally relents.

“Fine, but we’re doing this my way.” He directs those words at the glass window, and Cal makes a large, frustrated gesture with both hands before stomping off. Dirk looks unfazed, as his attention returns to you, still sitting on the edge of the bed. “Here’s what will happen. I’m gonna go down on you, and that’s it. You’ll stay on the bed, and I’ll kneel here on the floor. You can keep your clothes on. I’ve just gotta unzip your pants, although it might be more comfortable if I take them off completely. Up to you. Does that sound okay?”

“Uhh…s-sure?”

There goes that eyebrow again, but he’s already kneeling on the floor, and the cameras all move back into position. Dirk coaxes you to the edge of the bed, your knees bent over the side of the mattress and your feet touching the floor. He places both hands on your thighs and glances up, like he’s making sure you’re still fully on board with this. You’re not sure how to respond, so you give him a genuine (if slightly confused and worried) smile, and it seems to placate him enough to pull your zipper down.

Your pants soon follow, as Dirk removes them one leg at a time. You’ve got about three cameras pointed at your crotch, and it sounds like someone is taking picture after picture, but you remember Dirk’s words from before and try to keep your eyes focused on him, as he pushes your knees apart and places his shoulders between them. Then he’s meeting your gaze, and you’re caught off-guard by how gentle his eyes are.

“I’ll make this good, and I’ll make it quick, okay? I promise.”

You nod wordlessly, almost certain that there’s a permanent flush on your face at this point. He leans down and…veers to one side, his lips making contact with the inside of your bare thigh. His tongue rolls over your skin in languid circles, and his hands slide up until his fingertips are just barely sneaking under the legs of your boxers, but he reverses the motion a few times with just a hint of fingernails, until you’re almost getting a nice massage.

He keeps sneaking these little glances at you as his mouth travels higher, over the thin fabric covering your…not-so-unerect dick, it turns out. It’s subtle, but you’re definitely starting to swell with the attention. Dirk’s lips press against it, and you suck in a small breath of trepidation at the novel feeling. Then he starts to mouth at you, gently at first, his hands still rubbing your thighs in what might be a comforting gesture.

The cameras follow as you lean back on your elbows, spreading your legs to give Dirk more room to work. Your shaft is soon being kneaded through your boxers by his lips, and the sight of his careful, half-lidded eyes, framed by feathery strands of cornsilk hair, and his face, peppered with caramel like someone flicked a paintbrush over his skin, is enough to make your hips suddenly move on their own. His head pushes back as you arch into him, grinding your clothed dick against his lips, and your own mouth falls open in a shaky exhale.

Your elbows tire quickly, so you settle down on your back, unable to support your own weight, like you’ve been out jogging laps around the block. The crotch of your boxers is damp from the steadfast attention of Dirk’s tongue, and when he pulls the waistband down just a few inches to expose the blunt pink head of your dick, all you can think about is how good those lips are about to feel, and you have to grit your teeth to suppress an embarrassingly needy sound.

The repetitive clicking of the still-shot camera drones on, while another black lens moves to capture your face, as Dirk’s tongue - smooth, wet, and obscenely practiced at this - swirls around the crown of your dick in slow, demanding circles. You’re left staring up at the ceiling, trying to get enough air in your lungs without making too much of a racket, but as this goes on, you’re starting to care less and less about decorum and whatever anxieties you had about doing this more or less in public.

Your whole body is restless, and your knees end up on Dirk’s shoulders, which he allows. In fact, he takes advantage of it, and rises from the floor to push your legs back and pull your boxers the rest of the way off, before settling between your legs again. You fist the sheets in glorious anticipation as his mouth begins to claim the remainder of its prize.

The tight heat is incredible - better than anything you’ve ever felt before, your pleasure-addled brain is sure of it. Your body moves on its own, back arching and hips rolling up and down, like a magnet is pulling you into his throat. You’ve practically forgotten the cameras and the people, but retain enough sense to cover your own traitorous mouth with one hand, while Dirk’s fingers push and knead greedy circles into your ass. It shouldn’t feel good, but it’s the icing on top of everything else right now, and it’s practically heaven.

There’s a familiar spring coiling in your lower abdomen, and with it, your dignity bids you farewell and skips its merry way out the front door. A distant part of you is worried you’ll choke him, but Dirk doesn’t even flinch as your hips piston up and down, completely and shamefully beyond control.

Your hands find the back of Dirk’s head, and you retain just enough sense to avoid grabbing two fistfuls of his hair. When you look down, his beautiful golden eyes are locked onto yours, and that tingling feeling from before goes straight down from your head to your cock where it’s being squeezed on all sides by his throat. You can feel his tongue, trapped against the base of your shaft, but somehow still moving back and forth in the wet vice of his mouth, and it’s quickly driving you to the edge.

You’re as deep into his throat as you can go, his nose pressed into the black curls of hair between your legs, but that focused gaze doesn’t waver, so your voice finally breaks into desperate, senseless pleas. The spring coils tighter, as his hands suddenly push your thighs apart, spreading you wide as the cameras whir and click, and something about that knowledge and the anonymous attention makes your voice pitch higher, but it’s his merciless licking and sucking that finally pushes you over the brink.

You fist the sheets until your fingers hurt, back arching like a bow as you let out what might be mistaken for a loud cry of pain. Dirk pulls back until the tip of your twitching cock is resting on his tongue between parted lips. He recommended closing your eyes before, but you can’t tear your gaze away from the sight as mindless sunbursts of pleasure flood your nerves in waves. He makes an intentional mess, letting your cum hit the inside of his mouth, coat his tongue, leak past his lips, and drip down the sides of his chin. The rapid-fire clicking of the camera is almost deafening.

He waits until you’re completely finished and spent before closing his lips and swallowing, then gently sucking you clean, careful not to overstimulate. Someone hands him a towel, and he cleans you off first before tending to himself, and the gesture makes your stomach do a pitiful, exhausted little flip.

The aftermath is awkward, but not as bad as you were expecting. Everyone else filters out of the room with the equipment, while Dirk retrieves your discarded clothing and grabs a water bottle from the table nearby. You want to politely decline the offer, but you’re sweaty and parched, so you accept it and take a few long swigs.

“You did good. Especially for a first-timer, in…every sense of the word.” He trails off, and you almost don’t believe your eyes when a slight flush reaches his face.

“Thanks,” you manage, after what was probably a too-long pause. Someone else hands you a thick envelope with enough money inside to distract you from analyzing the moment any further.

After putting your clothes back on where they belong, Dirk leads you to the door. You’re almost surprised by the special treatment, but then again, you haven’t seen Cal since he stormed off, so maybe this was part of his job? You push the door open and step out onto the sidewalk, where the sun is just starting to hide behind the trees. Dirk looks like he’s about to say something, but appears to think better of it, and you’re strangely disappointed.

“Well, thanks again for…um…” You make a herculean effort to finish that sentence, but you’re distracted by how Dirk lingers in the doorway, still without a shirt and looking almost unsure about where to put his hands. It’s doing something odd to your chest. Maybe it’s the…afterglow, you think they call it, but you don’t like the idea of never seeing him again. Not in the least.

That leaves you with the problem of what to do about this. What do people normally do in these situations? Yes he’s a bloke, and you didn’t think you were into that, but here you are, unable to put a name to why you can’t turn around and walk away. Your eyes are inexplicably drawn to his mouth and the memory of what just happened, and what he did to you.

He figures things out, eventually. You’ve noticed that he’s very perceptive, almost unnaturally so. When he steps towards you, it’s slow and cautious, with plenty of pauses in between. He’s blatantly giving you enough time and opportunity to tell him off, closing the distance and watching your reaction carefully, until he leans in and brushes his lips against yours. Nothing but gentle contact, and the knowledge that he’s been your first in many ways today.

He pulls away, and you have to stop yourself from leaning in after him, but you’re not immediately successful. Maybe you’re being naive about this (he’s a professional, after all, and you only came here for a job), but you still can’t bear the thought of saying goodbye to him forever.

“I’m here on Tuesdays and Thursdays, if you ever want to, you know…come back.” He practically reads your mind again, regarding you with an amused, but genuine smile. “The pay won’t be as good as it was the first time around, but I get the feeling you’ll be in high demand after that content goes up on the site.”

“Oh, uhm…thanks,” you stammer at the offer, resolving not to consider it too hard until you’ve cooled off from this afternoon. “But, ah…I was wondering…this was all well and good…” You twist your fingers together into a nervous knot. “Perhaps this is silly of me to even ask, but, well…blast it. Do you want to, perhaps…I mean, I know this charming little cafe on campus. It’s not too far from here, just a few blocks east, before the traffic light, if, sometime next week, you’d like to…?”

You don’t quite make it to the end, before second guessing yourself into an awkward silence and wishing you hadn’t been so forward, or at least hadn’t stumbled your way through the request. Dirk actually tilts his head at you, and it’s heart-wrenchingly charming.

“So you were lying about being straight.”

“No!” you protest the accusation, and the very idea of him thinking that about you. “Honestly, I really thought I was, all this time, but…”

You trail off, unable to finish that thought without some heavy introspection and a little bit of long-overdue soul searching, but he seems satisfied enough with the answer.

“You’re serious, though?” he asks softly, without an ounce of sarcasm. “Not many people want to date a porn star.”

“Really? Why’s that?” you ask, and his brow lifts at your innocent tone.

Instead of answering directly, Dirk reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pen and a small business card with his name on it, before scribbling something across the back. You accept the card and turn it over, noticing the difference between the phone number printed on the front, and the one he just wrote down.

“Call me, or…text me, or whatever. I’m usually free. We can meet up anywhere, whatever you want.”

You thank him, unable to mask the hint of regret at saying goodbye and watching him wave at you over his shoulder, before he walks back inside and shuts the door. You linger for only a minute or two, before tucking the cash and the precious business card into your pocket with an excited smile, and the walk back to the dormitory is colored above with the most beautiful sunset you’ve seen in years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaboody asked for "Dirk teaching Jake how to dom him" for her birthday this year, so here's chapter two! \o/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can also be found [here](http://mortior.tumblr.com/post/181657457891/in-which-dirk-is-a-porn-star-and-jake-is-a-broke) on Tumblr.

Dirk’s business card sits on your nightstand for three days.

You forget about it most of the time, only remembering when it catches your eye while setting the alarm clock or retrieving your glasses in the morning. It’s not that you don’t want to contact him, but there’s a chance he might be upset that you dragged your feet about it, not to mention it would be awfully embarrassing if he’s forgotten about you entirely. Especially since you’ve been thinking about him so often. Sometimes you dream about that day at the studio, with all the irrational additions and embellishments of dreams. Even your waking fantasies are affected, where before you pictured nameless, faceless women who acted out whatever racy scenario your imagination conjured for those lonely moments in bed or in the shower, but now you’ve got a face and a name, and a pattern of freckles you can’t forget.

You can’t stop yourself from typing the name of the studio on his business card into your web browser’s search engine. The link appears at the top of the results, and you click past the welcome page and scroll down, then nearly slam your laptop shut at the first row of video thumbnails. A few hours later, after you’ve had something to eat and done a bit of cleaning around your dorm room to work the nervous jitter out of your hands, you sit down and open the laptop again, just long enough to close the web browser (and with it, the oversized video preview on the front page with you on your back, pants off, and Dirk’s head between your legs).

The money you got from that shady (though not entirely unpleasant) tryst is more than enough to pay the grocery bills, and you spend the rest of the week catching up on the movies and TV shows you missed during the semester, while paying half-attention to the homework for your online classes - mostly dry textbook readings and short quizzes, although your intro to physics course is a different beast, and you ultimately concede defeat and put it off until later. Now there’s a half-finished text idling in your phone under Dirk’s contact number. You’ve been picking at it like a scab, adding words here and deleting some there, never satisfied with it.

On Thursday, you revisit the website on Dirk’s business card. There’s a row of links at the top, allowing you to navigate the site without subjecting yourself to the “featured video” thumbnails on the home page. Most of the content seems to be video-based and restricted to paying customers, but there’s also a photo album with preview images and video stills, and you’re given the option to sort by tags. Some of these tags include names. The image thumbnails are small and confusingly obscene, but a familiar figure eventually catches your eye. Clicking on his tag brings up a new page, and a sudden twinge of guilt. 

You’re not particularly well-versed in things like kinks and fetishes. It was hard enough making the transition from homeschooling to a new country and an overwhelming number of people, and it wasn’t long before you identified with the words “introvert” and “social anxiety.” You’ve adjusted over time, but sex and romantic relationships always felt like an unrealistic fantasy - something that happens to other people or characters in books and movies. There are a few things you’re...curious about, but only in theory, much like you’re curious about ancient Mayan ruins or the rings of Saturn. 

Now, after clicking Dirk’s name, you’re presented with hundreds of pictures that seem to rouse that repressed interest. You’re not bold enough to click any of them, as you gradually scroll down in speechless fascination. Some of the set-ups look like borderline torture, or at least supremely uncomfortable. He seems to be the primary recipient of the studio’s BDSM subject matter, particularly regarding the first letter of the acronym. You’re especially drawn to the pictures that focus on Dirk’s face, along with various methods of restraint that you’d be fascinated to learn more about, if this didn’t already feel like a paradoxical invasion of privacy. You bookmark the webpage, then delete it, then bookmark it again, but name it something innocuous and school-related.

It’s Friday morning, and you’re lounging in bed with some daytime soap opera-turned-infomercial at low volume on the TV. You’ve worked the overdue text message into a casual but friendly greeting, a quick apology for waiting so long, and a tentative offer for Dirk to meet you at the cafe this afternoon if he’s free and still interested, but the send button proves to be a formidable foe. The phone rests by your pillow while you distract yourself, flipping through various channels until ultimately settling on a nature documentary. Finally, you bite the proverbial bullet and tap the send button, then focus with all your might on the natural beauty and grace of Asia’s carnivorous wildlife.

The reciprocal “ding” occurs about fifteen minutes later with a jolt to your gut, and your phone stays face-down for another minute or two, before you can’t stand it any longer. The TV is temporarily forgotten as you read Dirk’s reply. He’s accepted the offer for this afternoon, and you allow yourself a silent, victorious fist pump.

You send him the cafe’s address, then agonize for the next hour over what you’re going to wear. Everything in your dresser seems far too casual for a first date, but you keep telling yourself it’s only an outing to the local coffee shop. After a long shower and a quick shave, you finally settle on an outfit that would make a good second impression, but won’t sacrifice comfort in the process (namely, your other favorite T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts). For the first time ever, you linger in the bathroom and fuss with your hair in the mirror.

The remaining hours pass, and soon you’re walking down the street on a beautiful sunny afternoon with the occasional fellow student out for a stroll, though it’s still significantly less populated than it is during the school year. The cafe is on the southwest corner of campustown, no more than a quick taxi ride away from your dormitory, but you’re anxious and grateful for the excuse to walk off some energy before meeting your date (who happens to be an exceptionally attractive gent...and with whom you’ve already had a rather intimate encounter).

You arrive at the cafe with its little row of outdoor tables and flower boxes on the patio, and elect to wait inside where the lounging chairs are a measure more comfortable. Despite getting here on foot, you’re still ahead of the agreed-upon time, so you ask the barista for a cup of water and claim a spot that faces the glass door and windows of the shopfront. You twiddle your thumbs and check your phone, and try not to look as nervous as you feel.

Dirk arrives right on time. You catch sight of him before he enters the cafe, wearing a tasteful pair of black slacks and a white shirt that betrays his muscled physique, and...a rather unusual pair of sunglasses. He pushes them up onto his head, and when his eyes find yours, you momentarily forget how to breathe as memories of your previous encounter run through your mind like a tactile slideshow. At the last moment you remember to smile, and quickly stand to greet him. You trade hellos before leading him to the countertop to order your beverages, and it’s only a titch awkward (he hasn’t said much yet, and it’s hard to take your eyes off of him, even while he’s scanning the menu and talking to the barista).

When you’ve got your drink in hand (a pumpkin spice chai latte - they were nice enough to retrieve the flavor from the back room, even though it’s not technically in season yet), you return to your chair. Dirk takes the seat next to you and ventures a tentative sip of his chosen beverage (caramel mocha with an extra shot of espresso). The cafe is virtually empty, so you’ve got a nice spot to sit and chat.

“Sorry again, about waiting so long to get in touch,” you offer, hoping he doesn’t think ill of you for it, but he shrugs it off.

“Three days ain’t bad. I’m impressed you went through with it.” You’re relieved at the touch of humor in his voice, as he takes another sip of his coffee. His gentle demeanor is a balm on your frazzled nerves, and you’re momentarily distracted by his lips on the rim of his cup.

“Hah,” you let out an awkward laugh, “well, I meant what I said, and I am...glad to see you again.” You fumble for a moment. “How, uh...how’s your week been?”

During the following hour, you learn quite a lot about Dirk. It turns out he’s also a student at the university, though he’s dual majoring in computer science and mechanical engineering. He rents a house near the edge of campus with his younger brother, who just started as a freshman last year and is majoring in film studies. He asks about your major, and you confess an interest in anthropology, though at the moment you’re undeclared and just trying to get the core requirements out of the way. 

There’s a lull in the conversation, and you sheepishly ask about work, hoping you didn’t create any undue problems from that rather odd misunderstanding, but he puts your fears at rest. In the process, you learn about Dirk’s history with Cal, the large, brutish fellow from the studio. He’s not too much older than you, but he was never a student at the university. He and Dirk first met and started dating when Dirk moved to the area for college, and that apparently didn’t last very long (and Dirk doesn’t go into detail), but they had a few similar interests, including adult entertainment and business entrepreneurship. Dirk runs the website in his spare time and participates in some of the videos and photoshoots, while Cal handles the miscellaneous duties and logistics that come with running a small business.

“He’s terrible at it,” Dirk explains, “but he made the initial investment, so we’re all kinda stuck with him.”

“That’s unfortunate,” you muse, taking another sip from your beverage, now lukewarm and nearly empty. You’re keenly aware of the fact that Dirk already finished his drink. “Does he make a habit of, ah...misleading you? In regards to certain things?”

Dirk lets out a frustrated breath, and you detect a touch of embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry about that. He doesn’t do it much anymore, but like I said, he’s an asshole.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but...” You fiddle with the lid on your cup, trying to sound concerned and inquisitive rather than judgemental. “That doesn’t sound like a very good work environment.”

Dirk shrugs. “Cal’s bark is worse than his bite. He throws his weight around and micromanages to a stupid degree, but everyone just ignores him and does their job. You get used to it.”

You hum at his explanation, marginally convinced, but willing to take his word for it. You’re both nursing empty cups at this point, and the conversation inevitably peters out when you can’t think of anything more to say that isn’t school or work-related. It’s been a pleasure talking to him, but you’re not sure how to tell him that without making it sound like you’re trying to excuse yourself, even as he stands and offers to take your cups to the garbage.

Outside on the sidewalk, you pause to lean on the ornate faux-iron rail in front of the cafe, reluctant to bid him farewell so soon. You weren’t necessarily expecting more, or maybe you hadn’t allowed yourself to hope for intimacies beyond a pleasant conversation over coffee, but the thought of parting ways with him now leaves you feeling disappointed, and guilty for it. 

“I had fun,” he says, soft and genuine. He’s already put his sunglasses back on, and it’s quite possible he’s the only person in the world who could pull off that unusual ensemble. His face is naturally (and achingly) handsome, and he somehow still manages to look fetching with his eyes covered by sharp glass. “I don’t get out much, so this was cool.”

“You certainly are a busy fellow,” you smile, trying your hardest not to sound anxious at the coming farewell. “Thank you again for meeting me on such short notice. I hope I didn’t keep you from anything important.”

“Nah, I’ve got weekends off.” He shrugs. “Bet those online classes are keeping you busy, though. Isn’t it almost summer midterms?”

You exhale an awkward laugh. “Yes, indeed. I don’t mind the electives, but these core science classes are really putting me through the wringer.”

“Yeah? Which ones?” He asks with sudden interest.

“Uhm...just physics, actually. The introductory course. It’s so much math, and I understood it better when it was just gravity and friction, but now we’re doing circuits and resistors, and all manner of confusing little diagrams with wires, and I swear it’s all a bunch of blasted logic puzzles,” you trail off with a huff.

“Do you need help? I don’t have any plans tonight,” he offers, then quickly backpedals. “I mean, if you want. It’s cool if you’d rather call it a day, or text me some other time, or whatever.”

“Oh! Well, yes, of course, I-I’d be grateful for the help,” you stumble, grasping at the chance to spend more time with him, and caring little for the homework you’ll presumably get done in the process. 

 

The walk back to your dormitory is pleasant, compared to the awkward trek you were expecting. Dirk seems to know his way around campus, and you don’t need to direct him beyond the name of your dormitory building. He opts for the stairs instead of the elevator, and it occurs to you halfway up that you haven’t been very mindful about keeping the place clean since your roommate left for the summer, so you mutter apologies while pushing past Dirk once your door is open, grabbing an armful of dirty clothes after making a frantic detour to toss last night’s frozen dinner into the garbage.

“I’m so sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting company,” you apologize, while throwing your clothes into the hamper. Dirk says nothing at first, but when you turn around, he’s got a small, amused smile.

“No worries, man. You should see my place.” He clips his sunglasses to his shirt and wanders around a bit as you finish racing to tidy up, as much as one can wander about within fifteen square feet of space. He lingers in thoughtful consideration of the posters that adorn every square inch of the wall over your desk, then seems to notice the far less decorated living space on the opposite side of the room. “You got a roommate?”

“I do, but he’s staying with family for summer break.” You straighten out the covers on your bed, then offer Dirk a soda from the mini fridge, which he politely declines. Your tiny dormitory-furnished desk isn’t really big enough for two, especially with only one chair in the room (those tuition dollars at work), so you apologise again and ask Dirk if he’s alright with sitting on the floor, and he’s already making himself comfortable before you can finish the question, so you fetch your laptop and join him.

Dirk, it turns out, is a natural at explaining difficult concepts. He borrows a notebook from your desk and writes out a series of basic formulas, along with a small flowchart showing you where to replace certain variables depending on the situation. You go over the practice questions together as he explains how to translate each question into mathematical equations and plug the numbers in, and it’s the first time this stuff has made any sense. Next, you tackle the online quiz that had given you such a headache earlier. He lets you complete each question on your own, and once you have an answer, tells you if it’s correct or points out the step at which you made a mistake and has you redo it more carefully. It’s a relief to finally understand the material and not spend several hours ripping your hair out only to get a marginally passing score. It's a strange end to your date, but you're not complaining in the slightest.

“I used to be a TA before I got busy with the studio,” he explains when you compliment him on his teaching skills. “Can’t say it was my favorite gig, but it gave me something to do.”

“Well, you are very good at it.” You submit the quiz and open the next homework assignment, although it’s not due for a few more days. “I bet it didn’t pay too well, though.”

Dirk snorts, and it’s somehow the most charming thing you’ve ever seen. “Peanuts. But I wasn’t in it to pay the bills.”

“Well, I think you might have just saved my behind...again,” you give a small, nervous laugh. “I really can’t thank you enough. For this, and for…earlier this week, too.”

He shrugs a little, and his pale complexion betrays the pinkish tint to his face, as he focuses with sudden intensity on the laptop’s screen. “You started this one yet?”

“Ah, yes-” you stumble out of the awkward pause, “or tried, rather. It’s actually from the next chapter.”

“Do you have the textbook? It’ll make way more sense with the diagrams.”

You nod and direct him to a small closet packed with winter clothing and a few boxes that belong to you and your absent roommate, telling him to check the one on top. Later, you’ll blame what happened on how distracted you’ve been lately, and berate yourself for refusing to label things properly, although you’ll come to be grateful for it. Dirk gets up and makes his way to the closet to follow your instructions, and you’re busy focusing on the first homework question when the sound of ripping tape and cardboard triggers the horror of a forgotten memory.

Last year during the winter semester, your roommate was enrolled in a history class that assigned homework and essays and required them to be submitted online. Your roommate John is a nice enough fellow, though he’s far more outgoing than you and comes from a well-off family, so he spends most of his time hanging out with friends and whatnot. One weekend at the end of November, there was an assignment due in his class. He complained about going to the campus library’s computer lab, and for reasons unbeknownst to you, he never bothered to purchase his own laptop, so he asked to borrow yours. You consented, and he sat at your desk while you watched a televised marathon, paying little attention to any impending shenanigans such as him taking the underhanded opportunity to browse your internet history. You’ve explored all manner of websites at one time or another, and one of those websites happened to sell things related to those kinks and fetishes that you’re only curious about in theory. You had “bookmarked” a laundry list of fascinating but confusing implements by adding them to the site’s online shopping cart for the purpose of later research, but had forgotten about it since then. It was on that fateful day your roommate got it into his daft head to snoop around in your browser history and, with your birthday coming up, decided to order every item on that list, pay for it himself, and have it shipped to the dormitory. He even wrapped it for you, and laughed hysterically at the expression on your face when you opened the box before shoving it into your closet, where it would stay hidden in exile. Needless you say, you’d forgotten it was sitting on top of your box of textbooks, and now your date, who is an absolute gent of a fellow you’ve only met twice, is staring down at its contents with a blank expression.

“Ah! Not that one, that’s-...” you trail off, biting your knuckle as he lifts a tangled mess of black leather and metal. You place your laptop on the floor and stand up, practically wringing your hands together. “It’s not….well okay, maybe it is mine, but-”

Dirk finally seems to notice the state you’re in, and quickly drops the obscene items back in the box. “Hey, woah, it’s okay dude. I’m the last person who’s gonna judge you for this stuff.”

You laugh weakly, trying to hide the nervous tremor in your voice. “A-hah...well, my roommate actually purchased all that, you see. For my birthday, as a sort of...joke, I think.”

He frowns at that, turning back to the box and rummaging around inside. “Seriously? This is like...several hundred dollars worth of gear.”

“It is?” You pale a bit, then wonder vaguely why you didn’t try to sell it sooner, before the thought of selling such objects to complete strangers quickly puts that idea out of your head. “Well, it’s just a mess of things I don’t know what to do with. I haven't a clue how any of it works.”

“Really? ‘Cause I could, uh…” Dirk trails off suddenly, then seems to regain his train of thought. “I mean, we’re kinda doing a lesson already, and if you want to learn about this too, I can at least show you how the gear works.”

You don’t really know what to say to that. Dirk shrugs at your wide-eyed expression like he’s suggesting a casual review of some academic subject.

“Uhm...sure, ok.” You surprise yourself with the answer. He picks up the cardboard box and carries it to the foot of your bed, while you sit down on the edge of the mattress and try very hard to relax.

“Alright...we’ll start with…” he rummages around in the box and produces some manner of sinister leather collar from its depths. “This. It’s called a spider gag.”

“A what?” You make a face at the device, as he unbuckles the strap and sits next to you. “You're saying that contraption is supposed to go in your mouth? It looks...terribly uncomfortable.”

Dirk seems amused at that, as he holds it out for you to observe. “Yeah, well, that’s kinda the point. Depends on what you’re into. This is actually one of the nicer ones I've seen.” He taps his finger against the metal ring in the center. “Gotta be careful not to chip a tooth, but it’s better than a ring gag. The hooks keep it from flipping over. Want a demonstration?” he asks while already unbuckling the leather straps, and you nod vacantly as he starts fitting the thing into his mouth like he’s done this a hundred times.

You watch in quiet fascination as he adjusts the straps and pulls it tight, and you're left at a loss for words when he’s finished. Whoever invented this bizarre contraption was a genius of the highest caliber. The ring does a marvelous job of parting his lips and holding his mouth open, and all while leaving enough room between his teeth that you can already imagine the raunchy sequiturs to such a situation. There’s no denying the sudden heat on your face, as he pauses so you can take it all in.

“That is…” you struggle to find words, “...really...something. I-I think...I might have seen it before? But didn’t quite know what it was. I mean, from what little searching around I’ve done on your website- that is-” Dirk blinks, as you stammer in panic at the slip-up. “I saw the website on your card, and I...I swear didn’t watch the videos, but the photographs...and they were free, and you had a tag, so I...I should have asked permission first, I’m so sorry-” Dirk makes an incoherent noise in his throat, the gag preventing him from responding to your shameful confessions as he quickly starts fumbling with the buckle behind his head. “It was wrong of me to invade your privacy like that. I knew it was wrong, but I went and snooped around like a thoughtless cad when you trusted me with that card, and-”

“Jake, it’s okay,” he interrupts, after finally freeing himself. “If I didn’t want people to see that stuff, it wouldn’t be on the website. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Are you sure? I feel so awful,” you confide, hoping the sting in your eyes isn’t noticeable.

“I’m sure, don’t worry about it.” He drops the gag back into the box and focuses those stunning eyes on yours, his expression sincere. “I’m just…happy you still wanted to do this.”

“Really?” you ask, allowing yourself a deep breath of relief when he nods. “Thank goodness. I thought I’d really gone and mucked this all up.”

“You didn’t muck up anything. This is the best date I’ve been on in years.” He smiles, and it somehow reaches your face too. “I’m into this stuff because I like it, and I’m...glad you like it too.”

You laugh at that, though it’s more out of embarrassment. “Yes, well, I don’t think I’d ever wear those things myself, but on you, it’s...I-I mean, you’ve clearly had lots of experience.” You bite your lip at the almost-admission of how obscenely good he looked in that gag, and then, after a moment to think it over, you admit it in a small, quiet voice. “It looked...very fetching on you.”

“Yeah?” he smiles, matching your soft tone. The air feels heavier, and the tone of his voice stirs a familiar flock of butterflies in your gut. “We can keep going, if you want. Here, pick whatever looks interesting.” He slides the box closer to you across the floor.

You take a moment to bend down and rummage through the box’s unfamiliar contents, trying to hide the betraying flush to your cheeks. The only item that doesn’t appear partway tangled up in everything else is a metal bar with a suspicious leather cuff on either end.

“This looks a bit like handcuffs,” you venture, hoping you’ve picked something fairly innocuous. Dirk accepts it when you hold it out to him.

“Close,” he smiles. “It’s called a spreader bar.”

“Huh,” you murmur, watching him fiddle with it. He loosens something, and slides the bar away from itself in the middle. 

“Collapsable, nice,” he says. “The cuffs go around your legs to hold them apart. Sometimes they attach to handcuffs or collars, depending on how much restraint you want. They can get pretty extreme when you mix and match.”

“Oh. But this is...one of the simpler ones?” you wonder aloud, and Dirk nods.

“Yep. This one comes with thigh cuffs, but ankles are more typical.” He unbuckles the cuffs and scoots back on the bed to give himself room, before placing the bar halfway up his thighs and securing the cuffs around his pants. He leans back when he’s done, and you consider the result thoughtfully.

“So it keeps your legs apart,” you conclude, and he nods, “and it can pull you all sorts of ways too, if you’ve got handcuffs and collars and all that?”

“Pretty much. It’s easy to get creative.” He grins, and you don’t bother trying to hide the flush on your face this time. “Pick something else.”

“Oh, ok,” you fumble, keenly aware that he’s making no effort to remove the spreader bar. You return to the box at your feet, searching for something you can identify this time. “I assume these are the handcuffs?” You lift the pair of leather cuffs connected by a short, sturdy metal chain.

“Nope. Ankle cuffs.”

“Dagnabbit,” you mutter, and Dirk practically chokes on his laughter.

“It was a good guess.” He takes them from you and undoes the buckle on each cuff. “They can be identical to handcuffs, but these are bigger and don’t have any padding.” He bends down with some difficulty and has to cross his feet to make them fit, but manages to buckle the cuffs just above each ankle. When he’s finished, the combination of the cuffs with the spreader bar keeps his legs bent apart at the knees.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” you ask, concerned for his posture.

“Not really. These are kinda loose. You can shorten the chain if you want to. See the clip?” He leans over and taps one of the ankle cuffs where the chain connects to it, and you notice that one of the links is actually a sort of metal clip.

“That’s nifty,” you remark, pleased by the discovery. When you look up, he’s already watching you with a fond smile, and you return it bashfully.

“Got anything else for me?” He tilts his head at the box. You return to the trove of unfamiliar objects only a little flustered, as he waits patiently for your next selection. You eventually settle on a relatively large implement that appears to be some sort of leather corset, if you had to guess.

“I don’t suppose this is meant to go over your clothes…” you venture, hopefully getting the implication across that you’re not asking him to undress (although you won’t protest if he suggests it himself). He takes the item from you with a lopsided grin.

“It’s an armbinder. Way more effective than handcuffs if you want to restrain someone.”

“Ah, that’s...helpful, I suppose,” you add, unsure of what to say to that. Dirk spends a moment tugging at the laces, before handing it back to you.

“I’ll need your help with this one,” he says, turning his back to you and holding his arms out behind him. You stutter briefly, then wrestle with your embarrassment and figure to hell with it, before guiding his arms into the thing and adjusting it into what seems like the most natural position. There doesn’t appear to be an opening at the bottom for his hands.

“Now tighten the laces, then the straps go over my shoulders,” he instructs casually. You do as he says, hoping you aren’t pulling them too tight, but it’s not entirely unfamiliar - a bit like lacing a shoe. When you’re finished, he turns back around so you can fasten the large straps at the top. They remind you of suspenders from the chest up.

“Nice,” he says, testing his range of motion when you’re done, and managing only to shift his arms a little. “You’re a natural.”

“Oh, please,” you laugh, feeling giddy at the compliment. “You’re just a very good teacher.”

He gives you a wink, before wiggling a bit and shifting even further back on the bed. “Now I’ll show you the best part about combining multiple pieces of gear.” He manages to turn himself towards you, before leaning backwards and falling down on his back with his arms trapped beneath him. You stand to give him more room, and he looks up at you with an air of mischief. “I’m pretty much stuck like this now, although I could roll off the bed if I really wanted to. Won’t do me much good, though.”

You nod slowly, distracted by the sight of him as that pesky swarm of butterflies migrates lower, until you’re grateful for the baggy cargo shorts. Something about the sight of his legs held apart, and the way his arms keep his shoulders back, accentuating the rise and fall of his chest…the moment comes to a grinding halt, as he watches you and the silence stretches on, conspicuous and heavy.

“Like it?” he asks quietly, his smile turned soft and almost shy. You nod, and your face feels hot.

“You are...just...absolutely beautiful,” you whisper, forgetting to filter your thoughts before speaking. Dirk seems caught off-guard by the compliment. 

“Thanks,” he eventually murmurs, as your traitorous eyes move to the strip of exposed skin where his shirt is riding up. “You know you can touch, if you want to.”

Your eyes dart up like you’ve been caught stealing cookies from the jar. “Oh! Ah...w-well, I, uh…” you stammer at his gentle amusement. A polite refusal would be the proper thing to do, but you’re suddenly distracted by his hair, remembering how soft and delicate it felt between your fingers, and how last time you didn’t really get a chance to touch him otherwise. He seems to be inviting you now, in no uncertain terms. You wet your lips nervously. “Are you sure?”

His smile widens. “Yeah. You don’t have to, but...it kinda looks like you want to.”

You don’t have a good response to that, so you nod at the astute observation, not trusting your voice at the moment.

“Go ahead,” he offers, and you decide in a moment of philosophical clarity not to overthink it. Your hand lifts, then hesitates, not sure where to start. Eventually, your fingers are drawn to the delicate strands of hair framing his brow, and Dirk seems oddly surprised by your choice.

You gently trace across his forehead, careful and unsure at first, then sit down next to him on the bed and run your fingers through his hair in earnest. He’s watching you too, as you admire that spattering of freckles across his nose and take note of a faint scar on his upper lip. Your heart is working its way up to a flutter, as you gather enough courage to smooth your thumb across his cheek and down the handsome curve of his chin, then your fingers drift to his neck, feeling the faint pulse under his jaw. Your eyes are drawn to his throat when he swallows, and you’re struck by a sudden knowledge of what you want.

“Can I kiss you?”

Dirk nods at your whispered question, his half-lidded eyes never leaving yours. You lean down, aware again of his immobility, and something about that fact makes you slide your fingers into his hair and grip two handfuls of it as your lips meet. You press harder than you’d intended, and he responds by sliding his mouth against yours and scraping his teeth against your lower lip in approval, and it stokes an undeniable heat below your waist.

You pull back, keeping a centimeter of distance between your lips, just enough to meet his bottle-brown eyes and echo his heavy breathing.

“Damn,” he whispers, his mouth quirking up on one side. 

“Was that...good?” you ask. “Did I do it right?”

“I ain’t complainin’,” he says, sounding almost tipsy. There’s a hint of an accent under his voice that you’ve been subconsciously trying to place since you met him, and it’s definitely got a southern lilt to it now that he’s unguarded. You lean in again, this time rubbing circles where you’d pulled his hair before, apologetic, but still addicted to the feeling. He chuckles into the kiss and does that thing with his teeth again, but this time his tongue gets involved, and your head almost spins at the feeling.

“God,” you breathe, pulling away for a moment to catch your breath. There’s a heated look in his eyes, and you can’t stop running your fingers through his hair.

“Too much?” he whispers, and you shake your head.

“No, it’s...I’ve never...well, besides earlier, I’ve never done this before. You were my first kiss, you know.”

“I wish I’d known,” he mutters. “Wish I’d made it better. Gotten you started off right, not...coerced into it for money.”

“But you did make it right, and I am so, _so_ very glad I met you,” you reassure him, kissing the bridge of his nose, then along the freckles beneath his eyes, before leaning back to look at him, “And I did need the money. But I’ve learned my lesson, and will be keeping a tight budget this year, you mark my words.”

He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling handsomely. “Shoulda majored in accounting.”

“Nonsense. You know better than anyone by now that I’m rubbish at math.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“I doubt that very much.” You can’t help leaning in to kiss him again, and he hums into it, before sucking gently on your lower lip, and you almost gasp at the feeling - hot and wet, with just a teasing hint of tongue.

“Just takes practice,” he mutters against your lips. “Everything does.”

“Are we still talking about math?” you mumble back, smiling at the thought.

“Anything you want,” he whispers, taking in a quick breath through his teeth when you experimentally tighten your grip in his hair, and you decide it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. There’s a definite tent to the front of his pants now, all the more obvious with his legs held apart and the fabric pulled tight. “Do whatever you want. Or nothing. We can stop, but...I’m down with whatever, if you wanna keep going.” He swallows and licks his lips, his voice rough and maybe a bit nervous, and if you hadn’t fallen for him already, you certainly would have now.

“Anything I want?” you hum mischievously, amazed at your own confidence. It helps that he’s bound and trussed up like a Christmas goose. 

“Yeah,” he breathes as you kiss him again, this time taking the lead with your newfound confidence and moving to kneel over him on the bed. There’s just enough room to plant your knees on either side of his waist, and you wind up tucking your calves beneath his knees, since he can’t quite lay them flat with the ankle cuffs keeping his feet together, and the result is surprisingly comfortable.

“What, um...what do you want me to do?” you ask, briefly second-guessing yourself now that you’re on top of him.

“The surprise is the best part,” he drawls softly. “Anything else in the box you wanna try?”

You think it over, then lean down to make a quick final pass through the box’s contents, and finally manage to find something you can positively identify. Dirk grins at the blindfold, looking very pleased with your selection.

“A classic.”

It’s the sort that could double as a sleep mask, you think, and fortunately there’s nothing to fasten or tie in the back. You carefully lift Dirk’s head and slip the blindfold over his face, then take a moment to remove the sunglasses still clipped to his shirt and relocate them to the bedside table. When you lean back to take it in, you spend an extra moment just admiring the sight before you. Dirk’s lips are parted slightly as he takes slow, deep breaths, aware of your attention. You reach out and run your fingertips down the enticing curve of his neck, tracing a path from beneath his ear to the center of his clavicle, then along one collarbone until you’re pushing the neck of his shirt aside to reach his chest and shoulders. Your hand slips under the fabric, and you marvel again at how impressively fit he is.

“You’re the most handsome bloke I’ve ever seen,” you tell him, meaning every word of it and feeling relaxed now that his eyes are covered, like it’s taken the pressure off. “I bet you get plenty of exercise.”

“I work out when I can,” Dirk’s voice is soft and amused as you push up his shirt from the bottom, wanting to see more of him and unsatisfied with the little taste you’ve had so far. You sit back on his lap to give yourself more room, and lose your train of thought for a moment at the feeling of something firm beneath you. Dirk is breathing faster now, and he holds his breath when you lean forward, shifting your weight. His muscles tense under your fingers, now exploring the smooth skin of his stomach and the sparse curls of hair below his navel. You push his shirt up as far as it will go, then run your greedy hands over his pectorals and down his sides. He shifts beneath you with his limited range of motion, making you aware of the reciprocal tent in your own pants. If you just moved down a bit more...

But you’re not quite ready for that yet, you think, even if...rubbing against him like that is the stuff of private nighttime fantasies. Instead, you decide to satisfy your curiosity, and reposition yourself to sit between his knees just below the spreader bar, with your feet resting on either side of his chest. It’s a bit awkward, but you’re able to lean forward and undo the button on his pants. He makes an odd sound in his throat.

“Jake…” he murmurs like he’s out of breath, “you don’t have to-”

“I know,” you reassure him, pleased that your fingers are only shaking a little as you pull his zipper down, “but I do remember you saying I could do whatever I wanted.”

He gives a breathy laugh at that. You’re limited in how far you can pull his pants down with the cuffs around his thighs, but not so much that you can’t expose the most important part. He’s wearing a pair of briefs with an elastic band at the top. You leave those in place for now, reaching out and pressing your hand against the conspicuous bulge in the center, and feeling it twitch under your palm as Dirk lets out a stuttered breath. 

You’re grateful for the blindfold, as you’re still trying to decide how to feel about touching an erection that isn’t your own. Come to think of it, it’s...actually for you. He got like this because you kissed him. You can even feel it getting bigger, just because you’re touching him through his underwear. If you had any doubt that he was genuinely into you, there’s no question of it now. Flattered isn’t the word for it - you’re flustered and excited. Using both hands, you pull down his briefs and expose the blunt head of his dick.

After taking a moment to fold his briefs down as far as they’ll go, you manage to expose him all the way to the crinkled blond hair around the base of his shaft. He’s a bit smaller than you, surprisingly, but not by much, and his skin down here is strikingly pale. You rub his hips with both hands, remembering how good it felt when he did something similar for you. Once you’ve gathered enough courage and reminded yourself that he can’t see what you’re doing, you press your thumb against his shaft and begin rubbing up and down, just getting a feel for it, and when you finally wrap your hand around it, he pushes up into your grip with a breathy gasp.

“Oh wow,” you murmur, realizing how far along he is already. 

“Hhah…” he sighs, gritting his teeth. “Sorry. Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, smoothing your other hand over his stomach and admiring the sight of his chest heaving. The thought briefly crosses your mind that he might be hamming it up, but that hardly seems like something he’d do. “You’re...really into this.”

He hums wordlessly, then grits his teeth and curses when you push both thumbs against the spot just beneath his glans, rubbing in firm little circles. His legs shift restlessly against the bindings.

“Jake, uh...I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that,” he breathes out in a rush.

“That so?” you wonder aloud, feeling giddy and mischievous. Watching him and listening to him is giving you a light feeling in your head, almost like a pleasant buzz. You’re breathing faster, too. That might be it. You can feel him twitching in your hands, and when you push one thumb up to smear the little bit of precum at the tip, he sounds like he’s running a marathon. 

“Is that a good spot?” you ask, knowing he can probably hear your cheeky grin. He answers you with a string of quick curses when you decide to keep rolling your thumb over and around the blunt head of his glans, using the other hand to squeeze his shaft and hold it still. An idea occurs to you, and you stop for a moment to wet your thumb in your mouth, figuring it’ll feel better that way, but he misunderstands the interruption.

“Please,” he whispers, and the shaken tone of his voice sends a flood of heat through your body. “Please, fuck...Jake…” he chokes on your name, his legs starting to shake when your grip returns to his dick, now remarkably flushed. You press your thumb against the tip where it was before, now wet with your own spit. This time you keep it light, rubbing in circles and falling absolutely in love with the sounds he’s making - high-pitched and honest, like he’s trying to keep quiet, but can’t help himself. He’s arching up into your hand a moment later, twitching and spilling onto his stomach before you can react, and it makes a truly stunning picture with him all trussed up and straining like he can’t control himself. His head falls back against the bed as he catches his breath.

“Fuck it’s so much better when it’s real,” he exhales under his breath.

“What’s that?” you ask, but he shakes his head blindly from side to side.

“Nothin’.” He lets out a quiet, exhausted laugh, and you quickly decide to get up and find a tissue, wanting to do for him what he did for you when the roles were reversed. The tent in your own pants is an afterthought at this point. You clean him up, but not before running a finger through the mess, just for the scandalous novelty of touching another man’s spunk, and when you’re finished, you toss the tissue and sit next to him on the bed, taking a moment to pet his sweat-dampened hair before pushing the blindfold up. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hello there,” you smile, surprised at the sudden return of your own bashfulness. He’s still catching his breath, and it’s hard to meet his eyes with the look he’s giving you, because that smouldering fire in your gut hasn’t exactly gone out yet. His gaze flicks down and up while you’re distracted, then something in his expression changes, and he twists away from you onto his shoulder.

“Help me out?” he asks, with a hint of strain. You catch on quickly, and he holds that position while you undo the armbinder’s laces, then remove the implement and drop it back into the box. The moment his hands are free, Dirk sits up and pulls you into a kiss. It starts out with a simple caress of lips, and progresses into his tongue slowly pressing and rolling against yours after coaxing your lips apart. He’s not all worked up like before, but you find yourself making a few small, embarrassing sounds in your throat. Your own breathing has gone ragged by the time he pulls back enough to speak, and his soft words light your face on fire. “Can I get you off?”

You stammer at the question, and he gives you more time to think about it by leaning in and sliding his lips across yours a few more times, which isn’t entirely fair. You’re unsure of yourself again, now that he isn’t all trussed up and blindfolded, but then his mouth is at the side of your neck, leaving a slow trail of warm, gentle kisses. He has always been so very careful with you.

“Alright,” you whisper, not sure what he’s got in mind, but willing to take the leap. He doesn’t move right away, and when he does, it’s only to lie down on the bed like before. He retrieves your pillow and uses it to prop his head up, then reaches out to tug at your waist by the belt loops on your shorts.

“C’mere,” he drawls with a suspicious smile. He coaxes you onto the bed, then directs you to place your knees on either side of the pillow, until you’re practically sitting on his chest. He pulls your zipper down, and you bite your lip as he frees you from the confines of your undergarments, but instead of touching you outright the way you’d expected, he hooks his arms beneath your legs and pulls you closer. You obligingly scoot a few inches forward, but he isn’t satisfied with that and keeps on pulling, until you’ve got both hands on the headboard of your bed and can’t see much else besides the top of his head between your legs. Then something warm and wet - his mouth, that obscenely talented mouth of his - finds the tip of your cock, which has been sorely neglected up until now.

You immediately stuff a knuckle between your teeth, gripping the headboard with your other hand and trying your damndest not to thrust into his mouth like a feral animal. You’re gloriously, breathtakingly sensitive after ignoring your own needs for so long, and his tongue and lips pay special attention to that spot at the tip, like he knows it’ll drive you mad right out of the gate, and you are infinitely glad that you’re the only student currently residing on this floor. You’re close to drawing your own blood before you give up on keeping quiet, and instead grip the headboard with both hands like your life depends on it.

When your self-control slips, which doesn’t take long, he encourages your jerking half-thrusts by pulling at you with his arms around your legs, the message clear. The depth doesn’t bother him, and you know that, but it’s the _principal_ of the thing. You try to pull out enough so that you’re at least not bumping the back of his throat, but that only gives his wicked tongue more room to work, and your eyes roll back at the feeling. It’s extremely unfair how good he is at this. You’re not even sure what he’s doing anymore, the sensations all coming together in a dizzying, heavenly combination of heat and tight, wet friction.

You’re fighting an unnecessary (and losing) battle, trying to keep your hips still and making shallow thrusts into his greedy, welcoming mouth when you can’t. You abandon the headboard to bury your fingers in his hair again, finally giving in to the coaxing pull of his arms and letting out a relieved moan when you push in deep. You were a downright fool to resist this. It feels even more incredible when you start to thrust in and out, giving in to that instinctual urge. He clearly wanted you to fuck his mouth, so you oblige him and do it. 

Compared to last time at the studio, this position makes a lot more sense, given what you’ve learned about him. He’s beneath you with his legs still bound, and you’ve got his head trapped between your legs and your hands buried in his hair, giving you the lion’s share of control and making him, temporarily, into something for you to get off on. You’re not cruel, and you’ve never thought of other people as possessions or objects, but the moment your mind touches on that concept, it goes straight to the fire under your skin like kindling. 

For the first time, you’re not shy about gripping his hair and pulling his head against you, holding him while you thrust into that irresistible vice. You lean forward and change the angle, pushing his head into the pillow and practically riding his face for a few glorious moments, before throwing your head back with a startled gasp as your orgasm blindsides you, shaking and spilling into his mouth as he eagerly swallows. You try to rise up on your knees so he doesn’t choke, but his head follows, keeping you trapped in the constricting heat of his throat as you moan and pant while he drains you with long, slow sucks, not letting go until you’ve ridden out every last little wave of your orgasm. You’re a complete mess by the time he’s finished.

After you’ve caught your breath and made doubly sure you didn’t choke him, you free Dirk from the remainder of his bindings and return the box of unconventional implements to the closet. He sits with his back against the headboard, and you wind up sideways with your legs over his lap because there isn’t quite enough room to fit next to him comfortably on the bed.

“I swear, on my grandfather’s grave, god rest his soul, that I had no ulterior motives when I asked for help with my homework,” you tell him, sharing your amusement at the cliche implications. He’s taking small sips of the soda he passed up earlier, his shirt wrinkled on one side and his hair still mussed on top. He looks like he’s just stepped out of a photoshoot for some racy, sex-charged advertisement, and you think he’d probably have a lucrative career as a professional model, if he ever cared to. He gives you that charming, lopsided smile.

“Technically speaking, I’m the one who offered.”

“I hope…” you start after a long pause, “I hope I didn’t...get too carried away, or hurt you, or anything like that.”

“Nah, you’re good. I mean...it was really good,” he says, making you blush at the honest affection in his verdict. Then he leans his head back and gives you a long, searching look. “This is gonna sound shitty, but I’m so fuckin’ glad you went broke.”

You give an indignant laugh, then smack him playfully across the leg. “Cheeky!”

“I’m serious. It sucks that you ran outta dough, but I don’t think we would’ve met if you hadn’t.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose it was an outright godsend,” you tell him, meaning every word of it. He grins at you over the rim of his soda, and you distract yourself by searching for the TV remote in your disheveled bed. “I think there’s a science fiction marathon tonight, if you’ve got an extra hour or two.”

“I’ve got all the time you want,” he says. It won’t strike you as an odd thing to say until later, but by then you’ll have wedged yourself next to him and dozed off halfway through the third movie with your head on his chest. Later, you’ll wake up to find that he stole your glasses and placed them next to his on the bedside table, before switching the TV off and falling asleep himself. He’ll accept your offer of an early breakfast at the cafeteria, though you’ll suspect he’s not a morning person judging from his bleary eyes and reluctance to leave your bed despite the sunlight creeping through your window, but you’ll have breakfast with him and make plans for next weekend, and even though it started out as one of the worst experiences of your life, in your new boyfriend’s own aptly put words, you really are glad you went broke.


End file.
